Audacity
by Ndara
Summary: Show-verse. A "missing" scene set in Quarth, between 2x04 and 2x05. Rated M for sexual content. Doreah and Irri wonder how the men of Westeros make love. Daenerys T., Jorah M., Doreah, Irri


Show-verse. A "missing" scene set in Quarth, between 2x04 and 2x05. Rated M for sexual content. Doreah and Irri wonder how the men of Westeros make love. Daenerys T., Jorah M., Doreah, Irri

* * *

It was a big sun-lit room with a square bath tub in the middle and wide stone benches along the walls. Everything was ready, from hot water to tons of soaps, oils and lotions, to rose petals floating on the surface of the bath.

Daenerys did not want to part with her dragons, and they were quietly squealing on the balcony in their cages, enjoying pieces of roasted lamb and rabbit they had never tasted before – yet another gift from Xaro.

The whole business with the said Xaro and the Thirteen promised to be difficult, but for the time being Daenerys decided to count her blessings and just gather her strength. Her people – what remained of her people – were inside the city walls, and, if not in safety, at least not starving anymore. Whatever the city elders had in store for them, now they temporarily had shelter, food, plenty of water – and even the luxury of a decent bath.

Daenerys deemed it unwise to let her guard down and carefully studied the room and the balcony. It appeared that nothing there suggested a trap, and Ser Jorah seconded that opinion. Daenerys left three of her remaining bloodriders outside the door and another three under the balcony, and, after a moment's hesitation, ordered Jorah to come inside with her and her handmaidens.

"I feel a lot safer when you are close," said she.

Jorah cast his eyes to the multicoloured tiles that paved the floor: "Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but wouldn't that be a little unseemly?"

"Between being throttled, stabbed or drowned and suffering the indignity of bathing in the presence of my most loyal, humble and noble guard, I choose the latter. And my handmaidens will be only too pleased. I think they will even try to seduce you later, once they have their fill of water and soap."

Jorah chuckled politely at what he thought was a joke meant to break the tension, but the way her handmaidens were looking at him made him a bit uneasy. He drew his sword and turned away, now facing the door. He was already sweating all over, and not just because of the steam rising above copper cauldrons filled with boiling water, as he heard the rustle of clothing being removed, whispers, giggles, and splashes behind his back. The thought of three gorgeous young women, naked in warm fragrant water, but a few steps away from him, was a lot to take even for the most loyal, humble and noble queensguard, especially given the Queen's last remark.

Daenerys was not so dainty as not to be able to bathe herself, so she let Irri and Doreah enjoy the bath. Only those who had spent that long in the Dothraki sea and then in the Red Waste could appreciate what plenty of warm water and soap could mean for a weary traveller. She was washing away not only sweat, blood, tears and dust, but also at least some of her troubles, and when she ducked into the water to rinse her hair for the last time and then emerged with a blissful sigh, leaning against the wall of the bath, she felt a great deal better. Two stone benches on the opposite sides of the tub, some two feet under water, offered the perfect opportunity to sit back and enjoy the peace and quiet. And she did. But not for long.

Her handmaidens had already finished bathing and were chatting in a low voice trying oils and lotions. And giggling. And measuring Jorah's back up and down with their mischievous eyes. Doreah approached Daenerys and whispered something in her ear. Daenerys rolled her eyes. She was their Queen, but, apparently, when they all stripped for the bath, she was temporarily stripped of her title as well, and the three of them became just friends. Utterly improper. Yet Daenerys did not have the energy to play the Queen at the moment.

"Ser Jorah?"

"Yes, your Grace?" asked he, still facing the door.

"It is as I warned you. Brace yourself. My girls are wondering, how men of Westeros make love."

Jorah swallowed hard: "I wouldn't know. I have never been with a man of Westeros."

Daenerys laughed: "Anyway, they are curious."

"And why don't they ask themselves?"

"They feel that it would be better coming from me. And oh, they want you not only to tell them, they want you to show them."

"How very tempting." Jorah struggled to be polite and tame his ragged breath. "They may be disappointed and find me a little bland, though. The Dothraki men are much more… wild. That's not how I treat a woman."

"I think that's exactly what they want to find out."

"Your Grace… honestly… I… I don't know if I…"

"Don't be such a bore. Do they have to beg you? They have been fascinated by you for Gods know how long. Then again, I think you could use a bath, too. It is big enough for a dozen, and clearly more than enough for four. I hereby suspend all the courtly niceties until further notice, so, for Gods' sake, go. Use your chance while you can."

He gripped the hilt of his sword for dear life and drew a deep breath as she finished with an ironic smile: "Don't worry, I won't look."

What seemed quite an intense internal struggle took a couple of minutes, and then he slowly turned around and his other hand as if on its own volition finally unfastened the buckle of his scabbard and let it drop on the floor.

The girls squealed and clapped their hands, and Daenerys tried to hide a smile. She was not mocking him; she was just very much amused at her handmaidens' reaction. Then she heard him say something like: "Will you not help me, beauties?" in Dothraki and the girls stepped out of the bath, water running down their bodies and splashing on the tiles of the floor. Their nimble fingers began to work on the buckles and laces, and it took much longer than it should have, for the girls playfully slid their hands under his shirt to feel his chest and stomach, brushed his cheeks and lips with their fingertips and clung to him, trying to rub against his thighs. One by one his garments fell on the floor. By the time he kicked off his boots and stepped out of his breeches pooled on the tiles, Daenerys was pretending that she was very busy combing her hair and blushed at the comments of the girls: "So white!.. And so hard…"

It had not been long since Daenerys had to put an end to her sun and stars' miserable life with her own hands, she had not yet fully recovered from the childbirth, and she deemed it completely impossible for her, with all these wounds still open, even think of being with another man, let alone really take a lover. And yet, there was something about Jorah that sent shivers down her spine. She was drawn to him. She was drawn to him from the start, back when he offered her his modest, but thoughtful wedding gift. She could not name the feeling, but, besides trust and respect, there was something of an affection in the way she looked at him. That, and, perhaps, a whisper of desire.

Before stepping into the bath Jorah placed his sword and dagger within easy reach. He was there to guard his Queen and the ladies, after all.

Daenerys was playing with the rose petals floating on the surface. The water had already turned opalescent because of all the soap, milk and lotions, and her modesty did not suffer. With the forth body immersed into the bath the water rose even higher and splashed over the brink. Positively smothered by rose and jasmine, Jorah submitted to the girls' ministrations and let them lather him with all they could lay their hands on. As their palms were gliding over his chest and shoulders, they purred something seductive and complimenting in Dothraki with sly smiles and throaty laughs. Daenerys felt a sting of strange jealousy:

"What are they saying now? There were a couple of words I don't know yet."

Jorah cleared his throat: "They regret that… all the manly scent is gone."

"And what did you answer them?"

As the grime and dust that covered his face before were now gone, too, one could easily tell that he was blushing.

"I told them that with such lovely ladies as themselves I'll break new sweat in no time."

He hardly had the time to finish as Doreah grabbed his hair and claimed his lips, her other hand sliding down his chest and further under water. Daenerys could not see what she did there, but it must have been something enjoyable, as Jorah gasped into the kiss and involuntarily pulled Doreah closer.

Irri playfully slapped Doreah: "Don't be so greedy. And foolish. You will have to wait, or he puts a child in your belly. And I finished bleeding only yesterday, which means I get the best part."

Doreah pouted and bit his ear: "That's not fair!"

"What does it matter, you have worked in your pleasure house for years, you know the Westerosi already!"

"I was supposed to make them happy, and nobody ever wanted me happy! It's so nice to actually want the man I'm with, for a change."

It had been quite some time since two women last quarreled over Jorah; in fact, that had never happened before, and he would have lied to himself if he wouldn't admit that it made his head spin a bit.

"Ladies, I can be of service to you both. There are other ways to satisfy a woman."

"How?"

"Using one's fingers."

"That I can do myself, and better. Your fingers belong in my hair if I go down on you," Doreah purred, making him exhale sharply, "Or around my waist as you impale me…"

Finally Irri surrendered: "You start, I finish." With a triumphant laugh Doreah straddled him and sighed in bliss as she took him in all at once. The anticipation made her wet long before she laid her hands on him and she didn't want to waste another moment on foreplay; and he was ready, painfully ready, as well.

Their union was passionate, but it lacked something. Jorah's body worked like any man's body should: stick it between two naked young women, and the Nature takes it from there. The Sun rises in the East, and men succumb to willing women in a snap. It was a pleasure, but it all felt like a fancy meal cooked entirely without salt. That wasn't what he really wanted.

Jorah wanted her, his silver-haired goddess. It was only her he craved; it was only her he had eyes for. He felt awkward and ungrateful; he didn't want to hurt the girls' feelings and tried his best. He had been with his share of women in the past, he knew what to do. With Doreah straddling him he stroked her supple back, kissed her neck and hair, unconsciously avoiding the lips, and rocked his hips in a leisurely, steady rhythm, gliding almost all the way out and then swiftly back in. He was right, she would find him bland. And the fact that his beloved was sitting right next to them, on the opposite side of the tub, didn't help. He imagined her face, her eyebrow raised with scorn and disdain, and squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in Doreah's wet fragrant hair.

And then he finally dared a glance at Daenerys, gasped – and never looked away.

Not only there was nothing squeamish or scornful about her, she seemed to be enthralled with what she saw! And what a sight she was; wet hair clinging to her shoulders like silver snakes, wet parted lips, eyes veiled with desire. Small waves of opalescent water danced at her breasts, licking her nipples, but she no longer seemed to care that they were showing. And the most stirring of all was that ever so slight movement of her shoulder. Below her breasts the water grew too milky to see anything, but it appeared that she... Oh Gods, could it be? Was she playing with herself? Looking at him all the while? Could it be? After everything they had been through it was hardly possible for her to entertain the idea of physical love, and things were so complicated between them, and bloody politics and ranks could not be ignored, but she… she must not find him entirely disgusting, after all. At least, for the moment!

At that instant Doreah and Irri woke him up. They switched their places, and Irri, straddling him in her turn, grabbed his hair and purred into his ear: "Speak foreign, Northerner!"

He could not help a grin: "W…would you like the common tongue, or, say, Valyrian? Even more exotic."

"What's the difference? Doesn't matter, though. Do speak! Your voice… oh, your voice!"

And he dared. Devouring his Queen's parted lips with his eyes over Irri's shoulder, he broke into High Valyrian, anything he could remember, some scraps of erotic poetry, florid sensual compliments, but it was not for Irri's ears that they were meant. All the longing, and lust, and denied lover's pleas and laments, and admiration he offered to another woman not ten feet away from him, her cheeks burning, her arm sending tiny ripples over the surface of the water, already troubled by the rhythm of lovemaking.

If that was not an encouragement, what could be? So, when Jorah ran out of borrowed words, he began to speak his own, his eyes locked on those of his Queen. "…I love you. I have loved you since the moment I first saw you. And, oh, do I want you. I know that it's not meant to be, but I'll just say all this anyway, it's so painfully sweet, so good, to have it off my chest at last…I want to carry you in my arms out there, in the sun, and kiss away every last bead of water off your silken skin. I want to kiss away all your troubles and pain, shield you from all the evil. I spend nights and nights fantasizing of what your mouth tastes like; your kisses must burn like fire, Queen of Queens, Blood of the Dragon…"

Doreah could make out a word or two, for Irri it all was just some exotic noise, but Daenerys was hanging on his lips, savouring every word, every sharp intake of breath, and every groan. And he saw it, he saw she was not laughing at him, she didn't leave, she didn't have him thrown out, she just melted away on the opposite side of the bath, drinking in his ragged breath and his husky, strangled words that were pouring like blood from a mortal wound.

"…When we leave this room, I shall seal my lips again, forever, but here, now – Gods! Have your bloodriders cut me limb from limb, but I'd die for a single moment with you, I crave your burning kisses, your scalding heat. I feel like I wouldn't last an instant in you, yet I dream of serving your pleasure all day long, all night long, for every night to come…"

Daenerys was all but undone, longing for that last something that would bring her to her climax. And when he panted about thrusting his tongue deep between her lips, and not those she spoke with, she finally gasped and dissolved into pleasure. Her left hand flew to her mouth to stifle a moan; he saw that she even had to bite on her fingers as she, completely exhausted, went limp against her wall of the bath, a sensual smile on her lips. Seeing her like this set him ablaze, his thrusts becoming more and more fierce and deep. He bared his teeth, grabbed Irri's hips with both hands and drove into her like a madman, splashing water all over the floor. Doreah saw that all will be over soon and, willing to share the moment, slid behind him on the edge of the bath and threw her legs over his shoulders, trying to rub against the back of his neck. Irri let her head drop back and moaned with a lustful smile, her voice jagged from his savage thrusts: "You turn Dothraki, not what I bargained for."

"With you even a eunuch would, my beauty!" rasped he, "I'm… I'm so close… should I?.."

"No, no, stay inside me, I want you to!"

Unable to hold any longer after her blessing, he thrust but a few more times with the same wild abandon and was undone; and the last image before his eyes as the rapture claimed him was that of Daenerys, her eyes closed, her head thrown back on the brink of the bath, the same blissful smile on her slightly parted lips, and a wet rose petal clinging to her nipple.

The lovers went silent; for a long time the only sounds to be heard were their laboured breathing, the squealing of baby dragons on the balcony, the birds' songs outside, distant drone of people in the courtyard, and the softest splashes of water against the walls of the tub.

Jorah was the first to speak: "I… I thank you, beauties. It was an honour and a great pleasure." These dry, formal words did not sound right at all coming from a wet naked man worn out by lovemaking. His eyes were about to close by themselves. Doreah and Irri with a quiet laugh kissed him for the last time, patted him on the cheek and stepped out of the bath. Daenerys ordered them to leave her for a moment and go to the balcony. Jorah was mortified, suddenly very aware of what he had done and said, and of their nakedness. Daenerys shamelessly stepped out of the bath, too, picked up the new dress laid out for her and put it on, mercifully facing away from him.

"Dress, Ser. I have something to say to you."

He could not see her face and deemed it best to obey that very instant. When he was decent, he rushed towards her, and, bowing low, bent his knee, awaiting the worst.

"Most men tend to get the wrong message when a woman shows them anything but indifference," said she rather coldly.

"Not me!.." hastened he to interject.

"Silence. Should you even think of getting too familiar after today, expect anything one might expect from the daughter of the Mad King."

Jorah bowed even lower, and without another word, took his former position by the door. The sultry Quarth afternoon in an instant turned into a November midnight on the Bear Island.

Served him right, he thought. Madman.

* * *

P.S. Author's note: coitus interruptus and calendar method of birth control are only good in fantasy Middle Ages where no other methods are available. "It is known." Be safe! ;-)


End file.
